Silent Birdsong
by SladinForever
Summary: —Alternate Universe— Silence isn't always golden. Especially when that silence is forced onto someone else; someone who WANTS their voice to be heard. Follow a poor boy's journey from Hell and back, and learn just how important it is to sing a song
1. Silent Birdsong Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Teen Titans, Batman, or its characters. I make no money off fics, though it'd be cool if I did! *rolls away*

**Title:** Silent Birdsong

**Summary:** —Alternate Universe— Silence isn't always golden. Especially when that silence is forced onto someone else; someone who WANTS their voice to be heard. Follow a poor boy's journey from Hell and back, and learn just how important it is to sing a song

**Notes:** This story was inspired by a yaoi mangacap I saw on my Tumblr Dash a while back, where it looked like the young character had a scar across his throat. I made the assumption this character was mute—I couldn't find the manga the cap was from, so I don't know if he is or not—and immediately thought up this fan fic idea. This story will be tragic and depressing. It will contain dark themes. If you'd like to know warnings beforehand, PM me

**SladinForever**

* * *

The call came at five in the morning. His employer was discreet and careful in his instructions. Getting an exact location was like trying to pull out teeth with tweezers rather than dental extraction forceps. Lastly, he was told he would be paid a great sum of money and then the call ended abruptly. It was annoying when people did that. He didn't even get the chance to ask what he was specifically needed _for_. The more detail, the better. Oh well. So long as he got paid, it hardly mattered now. That's what he kept telling himself, anyway.

"We are nearing the end of the road, sir," an older male, upper class, English voice announced from the driver's seat.

There was a click as something metallic was put into place in the back.

"Thank you, Wintergreen. You may stop here."

A simple, carbon black Buick LaCrosse car slowly came to a stop on a wet, dirt road. It had rained the last week, almost non-stop. It was gloomy and semi-dark that day. When the car simply hummed softly, a gray-gloved hand grabbed the back seat door handle and pulled on it to open the door. A man, dressed in a peculiar outfit, stepped his leg out and proceeded to stand. He wore a half black, half orange mask that covered his entire face. He looked at his driver one last time.

"Return to the safe house. I don't know how long I will be. When I'm finished, I will contact you."

"Of course, sir."

With a curt nod, the masked man finally stepped onto the road and closed the door behind him. As Wintergreen backed up to turn and leave, the man reached into a pouch on his right hip and pulled out a round, black device with a screen on it. He placed his thumb in the center and waited, ignoring the car driving away. The screen flared to life in two seconds and then a robotic, female voice came from it.

_Good evening, Deathstroke._

Not saying a solitary word, Deathstroke tapped the screen with his fingertip and a menu appeared. He flicked it upward and watched the key items sail by. Once he found an icon that looked like a world map, he pressed it and lifted the device to the slits in his mask.

"Destination: Anthony Zucco."

Deathstroke lowered the device and watched a grid appear next. At the center was a plus sign with a flashing red dot centered on it. The mercenary zoomed out until he found a green dot to the left. A number flashed on screen: 6km. Quickly memorizing his route, Deathstroke turned off the communication's device, put it away, and then started on his way. Leaves and twigs crunched under his heavily booted feet. A bird screeched overhead. The further into the forest, the darker it became. Even though he only had one eye, Deathstroke could see just fine. It helped that his mask adjusted depending on darkness and brightness.

For almost an hour and a half, he walked in silence. The trees were dense and tall the farther along he went. Deathstroke had to change direction twice to be heading in the right direction. Soon, he came out into a large clearing. Fifty feet away was a building that spanned from one side to the other. There was a long garage on the right that was opened, revealing a few black SUVs and cars. A dirt path led up to it and the building. Deathstroke wondered how the vehicles could enter there. After glancing at the main building, he went to the path and saw that trees had been cleared down the way. He walked it for a few minutes, to see how open the path still was. It seemed possible that it opened to the main road. If he had known this information sooner, he wouldn't have had to walk so long.

Sighing, Deathstroke turned back around and headed back the way he came. Reaching the clearing again, he walked towards the garage and the side of the building, where a door led into the main. Stopping in front of it, the mercenary knocked three times and then began the waiting game. Nothing seemed to happen for a good few minutes before the sound of a lock came open and the door inched open. Standing behind the door was a tall, muscular, black club bouncer-looking man, eying Deathstroke with disdain. The mercenary didn't seem to care about the look.

"I'm here to see your boss," he said calmly.

The black man stared at him for a few more seconds before pulling the door open more and stepping aside. "He will see you shortly," he said in a very deep voice.

With an imperceptible forward tilt of his head, Deathstroke stepped over the threshold and entered casually. The bouncer closed and locked the door. Inside was a large empty space with a few doors here and there. Men were walking around or standing along the walls, talking. At the end of the room, there was a large steel door. The bouncer waited behind Deathstroke. There was a hollow clanging knock coming from the steel door. A tall Italian man with groomed-back brown hair pulled a key chain off his jean loop at his hip, grabbed a brass key, and inserted it underneath the steel handle. With a clockwise turn of his wrist, he unlocked the door, took the key out, and then opened it. Beyond the door was a short hallway and a medium-height man. He had a balding head with some grey hair slicked back. He had a prominent chin and sunken cheeks. His eyes were blue with a slight purple tint to them. Reaching into his black pants pocket with his left hand, the man walked out while pulling out a box of toothpicks. He opened the lid with his thumb and shook one out. Grabbing it with his teeth, the man maneuvered it to the left corner of his mouth, closed the container, and put it back in his pocket. He stopped a few feet in front of Deathstroke, looking him up and down for a second before looking at his masked face.

"I do apologize for our short-lived conversation over the phone. I didn't want outsiders tracing the call. I am Anthony Zucco, though you probably knew that." Deathstroke blinked, not caring in the slightest. "Anyway, your job is simple. There's someone I need you to get a reaction from. My men aren't devious enough to brutally torture someone and I don't have enough strength to do it myself. _Hence_ why I hired _you_." Deathstroke didn't say anything. Grabbing the end of his toothpick, Zucco turned back the way he came. "Follow me."

When he was almost fifteen feet from Deathstroke, the mercenary followed behind, already considering his method of torture. They entered the hallway, walked to the door at the end, and entered a large room after a guard opened it for them. Deathstroke was the last to enter before the door closed behind them. Zucco headed for the far end of the room, heading right for someone small huddled against the wall. When they got closer, Deathstroke started making out an appearance. It was male and his head was hanging over his chest. Scraggly, black hair hung like a sheet of vines from a willow tree towards his legs. He was sitting on the floor, his arms shackled above on the wall on either side of his head, completely unmoving. He was bare-chested and wore not-so-loose boxers. The mercenary's eye narrowed slightly when they were fifteen feet away and he could see him more clearly. He was covered in bruises and faded brown marks on his neck and collarbones, possibly bruises or cigarette burns, Deathstroke was unsure which. There were a few scars and cuts on him as well.

Stopping to the left in front of the teenage boy, Zucco let go of his toothpick, crouched to his level, and grabbed a fistful of hair. He lifted the boy's head and pulled it back until his knuckles brushed the wall. When he could fully see his face, the boy's sky blue eyes were almost closed and he looked exhausted and broken. Deathstroke continued to be silent, waiting for Zucco to say something. The boy barely noticed the mercenary standing there, not daring to tear his gaze away from the mob boss. Zucco smirked.

"I'm glad you are still conscious, my pet. I have a special gift for you. Do you want it?" The boy didn't do anything. Zucco waited a few seconds before letting go of his messy hair while shoving his head away and standing back up. Stepping to the side, he turned to Deathstroke. "As you can see, my pet hasn't been very obedient lately. I do not like being ignored. Do whatever it is you have to do to make him react. Just don't kill him." There was a long bout of silence as Deathstroke stared at them both. Slowly, he turned his solitary gaze to the teen, who was looking at him now, his breathing becoming loud and hard. Deathstroke could easily sense he was trying to stay strong, even though his entire body was trying to make him just let it all go and cry. "Need I remind you, I'm paying you forty grand for this job," Zucco piped in. "If you don't start soon, I'll dock it down by half."

Deathstroke's face had turned neutral the longer he stared at this broken boy before him. Blinking, he looked at Zucco again. "You know, this is _exactly_ why I require _very_ detailed information on who I'm dealing with and what I'm asked to do."

Zucco's brow furrowed in question. "And what is the problem?"

Folding his arms over his chest, Deathstroke answered, "I don't deal with children."

Zucco snorted while grabbing his toothpick. "He's sixteen." Deathstroke's eye narrowed in disapproval. This man was getting on his last nerve. Getting annoyed at the refusing look, Zucco stepped towards him. "Either you do what I've asked, or I will call in all of my men to _make_ you." Zucco stopped in front of the mercenary and shoved his pointer finger into his chest. Deathstroke looked down at it. "Now do as I sa—"

Like a viper, Deathstroke grabbed around Zucco's knuckles and yanked his finger back, breaking it. The mobster cried out in immense pain, his toothpick flying from the corner of his mouth. The mercenary threw his arm to the side and then grabbed around his throat with his free hand. Pulling Zucco forward, he squeezed his neck hard and pulled him close to his Halloween mask. Zucco's right eye slowly opened. When he saw the penetrating gaze, fear gripped him and he began to sweat. Deathstroke squeezed his neck a little harder, making his next breath hitch.

"Your first mistake was to hire me to hurt a child." Closing his eyes tight, Zucco gasped for breath. Deathstroke lifted him until his toes barely brushed the floor. "And I don't take kindly to threats."

Quickly turning sideways, Deathstroke threw Zucco towards the middle of the room. The man crashed face and chest first into the ground, his stomach and legs flying diagonally into the air. He flopped over onto his back, gasping for breath. Ignoring him now, the mercenary turned around, relaxed his mind, and approached the restrained boy. Back behind him, Zucco was shakily pulling out a cell phone. He hit a number on the keys and held it above his face. Deathstroke crouched in front of the boy, pulled a compact weapon out of his belt, and touched a button. A blade came out. He hit the button again and a key that fit any padlock replaced the blade. He reached for the right shackle and stuck it in the lock. The boy slowly lifted his gaze to him, but his eyes widened slightly. Noticing the warning look, Deathstroke released the handle, placed his hands to the floor, and then kicked his leg out in a sweep as he turned.

Half of Zucco's men had arrived. One had come up behind him to kick him away from the boy, but was now on his back, his legs in the air. Getting up, Deathstroke reached into two utility belt pockets on either side of him from the back and whipped out black, steel rods. He extended them and pushed a button. One blue blade each appeared on the front ends of the bo staves, but they weren't solid. Instead, they seemed to be made of energy that rotated in a blade-like shape. Two more men jumped forward to fight him without any weapons. Big mistake.

With relative ease, Deathstroke cut the men down, the blue energy entering their bodies and attacking their organs. They screamed in pain as they fell. Another man, this one with a semi-automatic handgun, got close and aimed. He was ready to pull the trigger, but the mercenary was stealthier. With a jerk sideways with his right blade, he sliced the gun in half and then kicked him in the stomach. The man flew back, crashing into another goon as he came up behind him. They fell in a heap. In the far back, Zucco was cradling his hurt hand, ordering his men to attack with everything they had. The rest rushed Deathstroke, firing off semi-automatic handguns.

"Be careful of my toy, you morons," Zucco yelled after a bullet hit the wall, just ten feet from the boy's arm.

Pet? Toy? Deathstroke didn't like the sound of that. At all. There was something more sinister going on here, and the mercenary was going to find out what.

Easily dodging almost every bullet—those that managed to hit either grazed him or hit the metal guards on his arms and legs—Deathstroke spun the staves around in his hands as he sliced into people. But they kept coming back for more. Another big mistake. It didn't take long for the mercenary to dispatch every goon. Zucco growled in anger at how weak they were. One pushed himself up, but was quickly sliced in the neck by the blade. When the fallen goons no longer moved, Deathstroke pushed the button and the blades vanished into thin air. He pocketed the staves, turned back around, and returned to the boy's side. Gritting his teeth, Zucco reached into his inner coat pocket of his black business jacket and silently pulled out his glock while the mercenary unlocked the shackle. The boy slowly looked up at him, a shiver passing through him because of the man's mask. But, all that mattered now was that Deathstroke was saving him. After almost nine long years in this Hell, he was going to be free from it.

Deathstroke carefully lowered the boy's arm to rest beside him. Bruises covered his wrist and part of his lower arm. Blood began rushing back to his hand and fingers, but he could barely feel the stinging, buzzing sensation flow through him. After the boy's other hand was free, Deathstroke carefully lowered it. After putting the key away, he lifted his hand to the boy's head and pushed filthy bangs back from his forehead. The boy stared directly at him, his mouth partly open as he breathed. He was captivated by this strange man that looked like a monster from a nightmare. He felt a strange calmness overtake him. Almost instantly, tears fell from the corners of his eyes and trailed down his pale cheeks. Exhaling out of his nose, Deathstroke ended in a sigh before moving his hands to the boy's armpits. As he began to rise, he pulled him to his chest and placed his arm under the base of his legs. His free hand pulled his limp arm around his armored neck. When the boy was situated in his arms, Deathstroke turned around and took three steps, but stopped.

"Put him back, or I'll kill you both."

Zucco had come up behind the mercenary, his gun aimed and cocked. Deathstroke's eye narrowed at him.

"You first."

With inhuman speed, Deathstroke pulled a staff out, turned on the blade, and stepped one foot forward to thrust it. Zucco's eyes widened, too stunned to move as the blade came at his sternum.

"Hrrk!" There wasn't any blood, but there was pain. Zucco's grip on his gun slacked and it fell with a clatter at their feet. He stared up at Deathstroke in shock. The boy around his neck had tightened his hold, whimpering. Gritting his teeth, Zucco growled. "Y-You…bast-"

Deathstroke yanked the blade out and then swiftly kicked him in the stomach with the bottom of his boot. Zucco flew back, saliva flying from his mouth as he was winded. He crashed into the floor, sliding back a few inches. The mercenary lowered his leg and stood straight again. When the mob boss didn't move, he turned off the blade, retracted the staff, and then returned it to his belt before holding the boy with both arms again. The teen's body relaxed only slightly. He closed his eyes tight, tears streaming down his face. He tightened his hold around Deathstroke's neck. Sighing, the man turned slightly to the left and headed for the door. He didn't particularly want to take this kid with him, but he didn't want to leave him here either. But, despite what many would think, he still had his morals and not hurting or killing children was one of them. The moment he could, he would release the boy back into the world, to figure out his new life alone.

At least that's what Deathstroke the Terminator kept telling himself…


	2. Silent Birdsong Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** See chapter 1

The rest of the building was empty. Either Zucco had summoned _all _of his goons or some had fled. It took some time to get through the locked steel door when carrying a five-foot-four teenager in his arms. The poor boy was weak and fragile. His body could easily break if Deathstroke wasn't gentle with him. There was no telling what this child had gone through since being Zucco's toy. Deathstroke was starting to hate that word, to be quite honest. Even though he killed and maimed people for a living, didn't mean he kept them as trophies. Usually he _avoided_ killing as much as possible, but some people just deserved it. It was obvious that Zucco had been one of those people.

Reaching the front door, Deathstroke moved his hand to the door knob and turned it to test the waters. Luckily it wasn't locked, so he didn't have to stoop to the act of kicking it. A gust of wind came in, making the boy tense from the chill. The armor was no help. He was shivering as Deathstroke stepped outside into the late night air. Looking to the left, the mercenary saw the garage still open. Some of the vehicles were gone, so his original theory that some fled was true. Turning in that direction, he walked towards the opening. There was a slight overhang, leaving a shadow. Deathstroke walked inside, went to an SUV, and opened the door. It didn't go back very far. Grabbing around the boy's armpits again, he carefully sat him down on the seat, turned to the door, and kicked it near the hinge. With a booming, breaking sound, the door came clean off and clattered noisily to the concrete floor. The boy had flinched from the sudden and loud sound. Deathstroke turned back to him and then crouched in front of him. The boy stared down at him, his arms wrapped loosely around his stomach.

"I'm going to contact my driver. You better be here when I get back. Understand?" The boy didn't answer. Pursing his lips and furrowing his brow in annoyance, Deathstroke stood up, turned around, and then walked out of the garage. He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure the boy stayed put. When he didn't move, Deathstroke looked ahead and down while reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the black communicator he had used to locate the residence, turned it on, and flicked through the settings. When he found an icon that looked like a book, he pressed it and then spoke into it. "Wintergreen."

The screen went black and then there was a ringing sound. It rang three times before the screen lit back up and Wintergreen's slightly wrinkled face and hazel eyes stared back at Deathstroke.

"_Done already, sir?"_

"I never even started," Deathstroke responded. "But I will explain that once you have found my location. I am going to send you a route from where I'm standing to your vehicle. There is a hidden pathway that Zucco's men would use to get here that I found when I arrived. Does that make sense?"

"_Yes, I understand. Is everything alright?"_

"I will explain everything when you find me. Try to hurry."

"_Of course sir."_

Deathstroke ended the call, returned to his menu, found the world icon, and had it track down Wintergreen's location. A moving image of radio waves coming from an oval-shaped transmitter appeared on screen. The word "Loading" was right underneath it with blinking triple dots after it. Twenty seconds ticked by before the transmission found Wintergreen's signal. The image and "Loading…" vanished and a map with one long, green line on it replaced it. Reaching for the top of the communicator with his right hand, Deathstroke pulled a stylus out of a hole, extended it, and then started dragging parts of the line to different places of the map. After a minute of relocating the line, he pushed the send button. The map vanished almost instantly, to be replaced by the word "sent" in uppercase, bold letters. Deathstroke compacted the stylus, put it back in its holder, pocketed the communicator, and then turned back around. He snorted softly when he saw the boy still sitting silently in the SUV. Sighing, he walked back to the garage and leaned back against the side of the vehicle on the boy's right. The mercenary folded his arms over his chest and then looked over and down at him. They were silent for a bit.

"My driver will be a while, so perhaps we should get to know each other a little better. I am a mercenary that was hired by Zucco. My mercenary name is Deathstroke the Terminator, but you can call me by my real name, Slade. Now how about you tell me your name and explain to me what happened to you." The boy didn't answer or look up. "Come on, kid. You don't belong to Zucco anymore. No one is going to hurt you. I am giving you full permission to speak. So tell me your name, at the very least." When the boy still didn't answer, Slade moved his leg to the right to stand in front of him and then crouched to see his face. The boy's gaze lifted only slightly. The mercenary's head was slightly atilt. "I promise everything will be alright. You are no longer silenced by that vile man. Now tell me your name."

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Swallowing, the boy slowly lifted his head, stared at the man's eye for a second, and then tilted his head further back. Slade blinked in confusion. Was the boy going to show him something? Once his neck was exposed, the boy swallowed and Slade's eye widened. There seemed to be something laying across the boy's throat. Curious, Slade lifted his left hand, moved it to the side of the kid's neck, and then extended his thumb to the right. He gently touched one end of what appeared to be a slightly jagged line and then ran it straight across. Slade's eye narrowed in wonderment. When the padding of his thumb touched the boy's Adam's apple, he suddenly jerked back and lowered his head, a strange mewl sound coming from him. Slade pulled his hand away and watched as tears formed and then fell from the boy's eyes. He lowered his hand after a few more seconds and silently exhaled. Lowering his head, the boy wrapped his arms tighter around his stomach and lifted his legs up. He placed his heels on the edge of the car frame and put his head down on his knees. His shoulders shook as he cried.

Slade stared at the boy's face for a few more seconds before standing up, turning, and walking away. He walked out of the garage to think without distractions. Standing with his legs slightly spread apart and his arms folded across his chest, the mercenary closed his eye, lowered his head, and considered the possibilities of that mark. It was almost perfectly straight, had very few branched-out jags, and was slightly pink against the boy's pale throat. It was placed right across his Adam's apple too. Was the mark connected to the fact the boy didn't speak? Could that mean-?

Turning on his heel after coming out of his thoughts and opening his eyes simultaneously, Slade lowered his arms as he walked back towards the garage. When he reached the back seat opening, he saw the boy leaning sideways against the seat backing, his legs folded beside him. His left hand rested against the leather, slightly down from the front of his face. Slade could see the side of his neck, collarbone, and shoulder where some faint and some dark brownish-red marks were located. Crouching again to see better, the mercenary carefully touched the marks and found that they were fairly big. His eye narrowed when he saw pinpoints on some and around them. Looking at Slade from the corner of his blue eye, the boy saw him examining his injuries. Fear filled him when he saw flashes of painful memories. With a strange whining sound, the boy slapped Slade's hand away. The man drew back sharply in surprise. The boy was pretty quick for looking so weak and fragile.

"These brown marks. Zucco left them on you, didn't he?" Slade asked carefully. The boy stared fearfully at him, unmoving, for a few seconds before nodding slowly. He then swallowed hard, fresh tears falling. "He mistreated you, didn't he?" It took a moment for the boy to slowly nod again. Lowering his head, Slade sighed. "And he hired _me_ to mistreat you as well…" Silence fell between them again. The boy was looking back at the leather seat, his tears finally stopped and gone. He sniffed in hard and swallowed again. Sighing, Slade lifted his head and then stood up. He stared silently down at the boy for a few more seconds before extending his gloved hand. "If you can, write the letters of your name on my hand."

The boy looked at him out of the corner of his eye for three seconds and then slowly lowered his gaze to the outstretched hand. Sniffing hard, he sat up straight, grabbed the back of Slade's hand, and began to write uppercase letters on his palm with his pointer finger. When he was done, the boy released the mercenary's hand, wrapped his arms back around his stomach, and then looked away to stare off into space again. Slade's fingers curled into a loose fist as he lowered it.

"There is no reason to worry anymore, Robin. Zucco can no longer hurt you again. I'm going to be taking care of you now."

The boy, Robin, didn't answer. Silence fell upon the clearing. After another ten or so minutes, the sounds of tires gently rolling across gravel came from the left of the garage. Moving towards the opening, Slade turned ninety degrees and saw the black LaCrosse that Wintergreen drove coming down the man-made path. When he was sure it was him, Slade returned to the SUV, turned so his right side faced Robin, and then reached in to grab him. As if he knew what was going on next, Robin sat up straight and extended his arms. Slade grabbed under his armpits, pulled him forward out of the vehicle, and then picked him up like before. But this time he carried him bridal style. One arm was under his knees while the other rested against his back. He leaned his head on Slade's neck plate.

Wintergreen pulled up ten feet away from Slade, not having seen Robin yet. Slade went to the front passenger seat of the car, reached forward with his right hand, and grabbed the handle. He opened the door as Wintergreen looked over. He blinked rapidly a few times when he saw the mercenary try and place Robin inside.

"Erm…Slade? Who is this?"

When Robin was seated comfortably, Slade, with his right hand, grabbed and pulled the seat belt across his chest and clicked it into the buckle. He ruffled up his hair as he stood up straight.

"You can sit up here. Don't worry, Wintergreen won't bite." Wintergreen scowled softly at Slade, but didn't say anything. After closing the passenger door, Slade stepped back two times, grabbed the back door handle, and pulled on it. He got into the car, slammed the door shut, and then moved to the middle seat. Lifting his hand, he grabbed the front of his two-toned mask and pulled it off. He ran his other hand through his messy white hair and then rubbed his neck. He set the mask down beside him before leaning in and looking at Wintergreen. "We should get back to the main road. Once there, I will tell you what happened when I left you earlier."

With a simple nod, Wintergreen put the car into drive and started moving. He glanced at Robin out of the corner of his eye and noticed him staring out the window. Looking back ahead, Wintergreen turned the steering wheel sharply to the left to make a U-turn. He returned to the gravel road and put the car at thirty miles per hour. Slade leaned back in the middle seat, pinching the inner corners of his eyes. This night just hadn't gone as planned. But, if it meant pulling a child out of danger, it was worth it. Beyond popular belief, Slade wasn't that bad of a guy. Sure he maimed and killed people for a living, but he had a good set of morals. He didn't hurt, torture, or kill children—hardly touched people in their early twenties either—didn't torture someone just because he felt like it, only stole items he had no other way of obtaining or was hired to steal, and rarely, if ever, caused women harm—again, unless hired to do so— Hell, sometimes he would even donate some of his extra money to childrens' charities that desperately needed help. But none of those good qualities mattered to the law. Slade was a hired killer and, if anyone figured him out, would be arrested and detained _for_ those crimes. Luckily he was well trained and could avoid law enforcement at all costs. He never left behind evidence of who he really was.

After a good ten minutes, the LaCrosse made it to the end of the gravel road. The road was deserted, so Wintergreen turned left, went the same speed for four seconds, and then picked up speed. They drove on for a good five minutes before Slade moved to the edge of the middle seat and leaned in.

"After you dropped me off, Wintergreen, I had to walk an hour and a half to get to the job site. I noticed the gravel road after seeing a wide building and a garage next to it. I checked to see if the path could lead to the main road before I returned to the clearing and went to the front door. I was let in after I said I would be seeing my employer that night."

Slade paused to let this information sink in. Wintergreen looked at him out of the corner of a wrinkled eye. "And who hired you?"

"One of the Falcone Crime Family's underdogs, Anthony Zucco. Anyway, Zucco comes out, tells me that he hired me to get a reaction from someone by means of torture, and then leads me further into the main building. We walked down a short hall and entered a large, mostly empty room. At the other end of the room was this boy chained to a wall. I told Zucco I didn't deal with children and he threatened me. So I took his goons down, killed Zucco, and rescued the boy. His name is Robin and he has strange marks on his upper body, along with some wounds and bruises over the rest of him. Zucco referred to him as a pet and a toy. I'm not sure what Zucco did to him, but I hope to get answers from him soon. He can't talk and has what appears to be a scar on his throat. Putting two and two together makes me believe Robin is mute. Since the scar is so smooth and clean cut, I believe his vocal chords were surgically removed, on Zucco's orders."

Slade paused again. Wintergreen stared silently out the windshield for a bit before he slowly looked over at Robin. His eyes lit up with sympathy and sadness for him. He didn't like what he was seeing on his body either. Those brown marks looked an awful lot like welts or hickeys. If it was the latter, then it was possible Robin had been sexually abused for god knows how long he was living with Zucco. Slade stared at the old man's upset face for a few seconds before slowly looking at Robin. He was glad to see he had fallen asleep. His thin arms were lying in his lap and his head was resting against the glass. He was breathing steadily and he was, hopefully, at peace with his dreams.

"What do you plan on doing with him?" Wintergreen asked a minute later.

Slade sat back and folded his arms over his chest. "First and foremost, I'm going to let him sleep. Then, before we give him a hot bath, I'm going to run some simple medical tests, to see how extensive his external injuries are. After that, I am going to try and figure out what he went through and for how long."

"Should we not contact the police instead? Zucco could have kidnapped him and held him captive."

Slade shook his head. "They are _never_ an option with me. Besides, if he was taken from his family and they're dead, he would be forced into foster care. And you know how I feel about those bullshit organizations."

"And if his parents _are_ looking for him?"

"…"

Looking outside, Wintergreen sighed. "Slade, please. Not all parents are y-"

Slade snorted. "If Robin tells us his parents are still alive and he can tell me who they are, then I will return him to them. But if they are not…" He trailed off. Wintergreen looked through the rear view mirror to see him. Suddenly, Slade moved to the left, turned while lifting his legs, and stretched out on the full seat. His back rested against the door. Closing his one normal and one scarred and blind eye, Slade folded his arms over his chest and inhaled deep. "I have had too long of a day. If I happen to fall asleep, wake me when we're ten minutes from the safe house."

Wintergreen stared in the mirror for a few more seconds before keeping his eyes on the road. "Yes sir."

Rolling over on his side and turning his nicely chiseled face towards the back of the seat, Slade inhaled again and then opened his eyes to almost a sliver. His gaze was cast down, making the expression on his face look like someone had killed his puppy. No, what he was thinking about was much worse than death. He kept certain memories locked completely away, and for good reason. If his theories and predictions were true, then Robin wouldn't be the only one who had suffered greatly. Slade tried to forget the past, but this only worked if nothing similar ever came up in his life. Until Robin told him if his parents were alive or dead, the past would haunt him. And oh how Slade _hated_ to be haunted…


	3. Silent Birdsong Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** See chapter 1

Slade's eyes snapped open. Luckily he had learned not to bolt up like when this particular nightmare first started. Unfortunately, his heart and shortness of breath hadn't picked up on that particular skill yet. They probably never would, now that he thought about it. Wait a minute, why was he thinking about it? There were more important things to think about.

Clenching his eyes tight and inhaling deeply, Slade lowered his hands to the seat he was lying on and pushed himself up. He maneuvered onto his rear and then swung his legs around. Leaning forward with his legs spread, he rubbed the back of his neck, groaning as the aching crick eased away. He then lowered his hand and lifted himself up.

"Wintergreen, where are we?"

"Just fifty miles from the safe house."

Slade rubbed his blind eye. Moving up to the edge of the middle seat, he looked around the passenger seat and saw Robin staring out the closed window. The very subtle movement of his chest told him he was awake. Reaching over, he placed his hand on his shoulder and gently shook it. Robin jerked his head around to look at him.

"Did you sleep well?" Slade asked, lowering his hand. Robin stared at him with the same blank stare for a few more seconds before nodding. Slade gave him a quick smile. "Good. Once we return to the safe house, we will get you fed. Afterward, before we clean you up, I'm going to run some simple tests. I need to make sure you're not badly hurt."

Robin turned his head away and looked out the window again. Wintergreen kept chancing glances at the two of them while driving. As Slade turned his head, they made eye contact for a split second. He then sat back, reached into his utility belt pocket, and pulled out the communicator. Finding the message tool, he checked to see if any new jobs had come up. The last message he had was Zucco's location, so he deleted it. For the time being, he decided to hold off any new jobs. At least for two or three months. He needed to help Robin get better first.

For the last forty minutes, the ride was silent. Slade had been going through his messages and deleting any irrelevant or five-to-six months old jobs and reminder notes that he made for himself. Although Slade could use ninety percent of his brain and keep a lot of information locked up, it was nice to get them out on paper every now and again. He was about to scroll to the next page of messages when something caught his eye. His eyes narrowed as he read the name of the recipient.

"Wintergreen?"

The old man looked into his rear view mirror. "Yes sir?"

Closing the program down, Slade turned the communicator off, pocketed it, and then looked up at Wintergreen's reflection. "Have you spoken to Alfred Pennyworth recently by chance?"

"Hmmm, about five months ago. Why?"

Slade leaned back in the seat, folding his arms over his chest. "I know Bruce has to take worldly trips for his profession thrice a year and I wondered if you knew of his whereabouts."

Wintergreen looked back out the windshield. "I do not, sir."

Slade hummed softly. "When we return to the safe house, I want you to contact Alfred and find out where he is."

"Of course sir."

The last few miles didn't take long. A few feet up ahead from the car, there was a dirt road that led into the trees. Wintergreen carefully eased over and onto the road. After eighty feet, it made a slight sharp turn to the right. The Englishman turned on the brights and slowed down to twenty-two miles an hour. Robin watched the trees fly by his window. For a second he saw a pair of glowing eyes belonging to a deer. He quickly looked away, his heart racing a bit. In just a few minutes, the trees covered more of the road. Robin's right hand gripped the wide hole that was on the door below the handle. He closed his eyes tight, thinking of bright colors making random images in his mind. He started to breathe a little heavier, but his heart was slowing down.

"Robin." A hand gripped Robin's upper arm firmly. His eyes snapped open and he flung himself to the right, slamming into the door. Wintergreen quickly stepped on the brake, making the car come to a heavy halt. The tires skid slightly on the tiny loose rocks and pebbles. Turning his left hip slightly to the side, Slade moved closer to Robin. He looked really freaked out for some reason. Slade's eyes narrowed in worried confusion. "Robin, what's wrong? You looked like you were having a seizure."

Robin was staring fearfully at the mercenary. Turning suddenly, he grabbed Slade's other hand and quickly wrote a few letters on his palm: C-L-A-U-S-T-R-O-P-H-O-B-I-A. When he repeated the letters in his head, Slade looked up at Wintergreen while taking Robin's seat belt off.

"Keep driving. He's afraid of enclosed and tight spaces." Without thinking twice, Wintergreen slammed on the accelerator and the car lurched forward. After throwing the belt aside and grabbing both of Robin's arms with firm reassurance, Slade looked directly into his eyes. "This is what I want you to do. Don't look at _anything _but my eyes. Keep complete focus on them, understand?" Robin was shaking. Tears formed in his pained eyes and dripped down his cheeks. He started breathing heavily again. With his right hand, Slade placed it on the side of his neck and squeezed gently. "Just stay looking at me and breathe. Don't do anything else but those two things." Robin began to hyperventilate. His chest was in stinging pain and his airways were clenched tightly together. "_Breathe_…"

Thinking quickly, Wintergreen jabbed the passenger window button on the door beside him. Robin's window rolled down and wind rushed in. With the increase in oxygen, Robin sucked it in on his next catching breath. The cold, biting air hurt his throat and esophagus, but it was welcoming. He sucked in sharply again and again. His body shook uncontrollably now. On the next attempted breath, he held it in and then released it. The next one came soon after, but it got a little quieter. Robin kept staring into Slade's eyes, not caring about or noticing the scar that ran across the right one. On his next third breath, he let it out shakily and then closed his mouth and breathed in deep with his nose. He held it for four seconds and then released it from his mouth. His heart beat began to slow back down towards normal. He continued to breathe in through his nose and out with his mouth. Fresh tears fell heavily from his eyes. Soon, his breaths had quieted down and the pain in his chest ebbed away.

Slade never broke eye contact with Robin throughout this whole ordeal. The boy continued to breathe deep and steady. The heavy weight of his head that came with the lack of oxygen to his brain decreased dramatically and his heart rate returned to normal. Robin breathed in deep and quiet one more time, held it for two seconds, and then collapsed forward while letting it out. Getting down to the floor and leaning over the console in between the two front seats, Slade moved his right hand to the back of Robin's head and began to gently pet him. Robin had his eyes closed as he continued to breathe. Blood rushed back to his head. Within seconds, the negative air had lifted and the calm returned.

Almost a minute after Robin collapsed into Slade's arms, Wintergreen came out into a clearing. Not far away was a small, rectangle house with a small square garage on the right. Wintergreen drove up to the garage door, staying back ten feet, and then turned off the ignition. He took his seat belt off before turning slightly to see Robin more clearly. His back and shoulders vibrated with each breath, but at least he had stopped shaking violently.

"Perhaps we may go to the police now?" Wintergreen asked softly.

Slade looked over to glare at him. They stared silently at each other for a moment until Wintergreen looked away, turned the opposite direction, and then pushed open the door. Rolling his eyes, Slade looked back at Robin and slowly pushed him up. The boy lifted his head, his face completely covered in tears. Behind him, the passenger door opened. Poking his head in, Wintergreen placed a comforting hand on Robin's back. He had flinched but was alright. Slade ran his hand through his hair, starting from the front and pushing his black bangs back. Robin sniffed in hard as a few more tears leaked out. Slade finally released his other arm and gently moved him back. Getting a good footing, Wintergreen helped pull Robin out. Slade quickly got out on the left, rushed around the back of the car, his feet kicking some of the rocks of the driveway, and reaching the two. Wintergreen held Robin's arms gently, but firm enough to keep him standing.

"I've got him now," Slade said as he grabbed under the boy's armpits. Wintergreen took a step back. When Robin was pressed firmly to his chest, Slade looked at Wintergreen. "Get the door."

Nodding, Wintergreen briskly walked around the front of the LaCrosse, pulled half of his body into the driver's side, and yanked the keys out of the ignition. Slade carried Robin with one arm under his butt and the other across his back while he held the back of his head with his hand. Robin's arms lay limp over his shoulders, his eyes almost closed. Wintergreen pushed open the door, opened it until it touched the wall, and then entered. Slade came up soon after.

"I'll put the kettle on."

After closing the door behind Slade, Wintergreen headed to the kitchen that was right after the living room. Going to the long, simple brown couch behind a glass coffee table, Slade bent his knees and sat Robin down. He lowered his arms to his lap and then stood up.

"Just sit tight for a second," Slade said, turning around and moving towards a hallway. Robin folded his legs under himself and then lowered himself onto his side. He tucked his hands under his head and closed his eyes. Slade soon returned, carrying a folded gray blanket. He returned to the couch, unfolded the blanket, and then threw it over the boy. Robin opened his eyes and looked at Slade out of the corner. Crouching beside him, the mercenary pushed him to be on his back and then reached into his belt. He pulled out a flashlight. "You need to open your mouth so I can see your throat."

Robin looked away and kept his mouth tightly shut. Slade scowled. "Do you want to get better? Then I suggest you let me see your throat."

Wintergreen came up behind the table with a glass of water. "Slade, he clearly needs time to adjust. Perhaps we should wait until morning."

Slade stared at Robin's face for a second longer. Standing up, he turned around. "I'll be in my room." He headed for the hallway again. "Give him food, while you're at it." Slade stopped halfway in the hall before looking back at Wintergreen. "And I could use a cup."

Looking away again, Slade continued until he was out of sight. Wintergreen stared at the place he once stood and then sighed. Turning back to Robin, he walked around the table, knelt beside the couch, and held the cup to him.

"You must be thirsty. Drink this."

It almost looked as if Robin wouldn't take it. But, he rolled onto his side and lifted just his forearm and hand. Wintergreen placed the glass against his palm and released it after Robin gripped it. Lowering the tall glass to his mouth, he put the edge to his dried lips and tilted his hand. Wintergreen made sure he didn't spill or drop the glass as he slowly drank the water from it. Robin swallowed, took another gulp, and then swallowed again. Wintergreen gave him a small smile. When the teen had his fill, he handed it back. Wintergreen took the cup, stood up, and then walked around the table to get to the kitchen. Robin tucked his hand back under his head and closed his eyes. The Englishman was returning with a box of crackers when he saw him fast asleep. Returning to the kitchen, he put the box back and then poured boiling water into a coffee mug. He inserted Ginseng teabags and waited a good seven minutes before removing them. He then grabbed the mug and headed for the hall.

There was a knock. From the adjoined bathroom at the sink, Slade splashed cold water on his face. He straightened his back while grabbing the towel to his left. "Yes, come in."

Slade dried off his face while Wintergreen opened the door and stepped in. On the bed was Slade's Kevlar suit, his metal arm and leg guards, and, on the floor, his boots. The mercenary came out seconds later. Wintergreen passed the mug over to him. Slade grabbed the top and pulled it from his wrinkled hands.

"Master Robin has fallen asleep."

Placing the brim of the mug to his lips, Slade tilted his head back and swallowed a gulp. He lowered the mug and his head and moved towards his bed. Wintergreen waited for Slade to dismiss him. The mercenary set the mug on the nightstand and then sat down. He stared down at the floor in silence for a while. He soon ran his hand through his hair.

"Did he eat?"

"He fell asleep before I could feed him," Wintergreen answered. There was another bout of silence. "Slade, we need to discuss about-"

Slade sighed. "William, I'm really not in the mood."

Wintergreen glared at him. "We cannot keep Master Robin locked up-"

The corner of Slade's mouth went up in a smirk as he laughed. "Haha, locked up!" The smirk fell and he snorted. "You of all people should know that _I_ know what being locked up feels like."

Wintergreen held back the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he face palmed gently and then ran his hand over his bald head. "Foster Care and adoption agencies are _not_ prisons, Slade."

Slade forcefully grabbed the mug. "Mine sure the hell was." He drank another two gulps before setting the mug back down. He then began to lay down. "You just relax, William." Slade rolled onto his side. "My decision isn't final yet. So just go to sleep. You've had a long night."

Slade didn't say anything after that. Wintergreen sighed and then turned away. "I wish you would see reason."

"Your reason is stupid," Slade murmured groggily.

Wintergreen shook his head as he headed for the door. "Good night, Slade."

"Mm-hmm."

Grabbing the handle as he headed out, Wintergreen turned off the light, pulled on the door, and closed it gently behind him. Slade shoved his hand under his pillow and buried his face in it. He opened his right eye halfway, thinking. A small part of him agreed with Wintergreen, to be very honest. He didn't have what you would call a "steady" job and there had been times where he spent months without a new mission. There had been small jobs, but not enough to live a month off of. And that was when it was just him. If Slade decided to keep Robin to himself, then he would have two mouths to feed. Taking care of a mentally scarred teenager alone wouldn't be easy. It would be much simpler to take Robin to the police and let them deal with him, but…

Slade forced himself onto his back, folding his arms over his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. This problem wouldn't have an easy answer. There was a 50/50 chance that Robin's parents were alive and looking for him. If they were, they would still be looking for him then, wouldn't they? If they were alive, then Robin wouldn't be put through foster care or admitted to an adoption center. He would return home and that would be that. And what if they weren't alive? What should Slade do then? Risk Robin going through the same bullshit Slade went through and living with the decision? As far as the man was concerned, that was not on the table. He couldn't see the future and Robin was probably too mentally disturbed to tell Slade if he thought his parents were alive—

Lifting his eyes to the top of his head, Slade tilted his head slightly to the right. That wasn't a bad idea, actually. There was no harm in trying to ask Robin if he thought his parents were alive and looking for him. They very well could be.

So it was decided. Slade would ask Robin if his parents could still be alive and looking for him. If Robin thought so, then Slade would find them and return their son to them. If they weren't, then he would raise Robin himself. He would not let the government decide his fate for him. Besides, Slade could take care of a child. Couldn't he…?


	4. Silent Birdsong Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** See chapter 1

If you find any mistakes or you think something doesn't flow very well, PLEASE point them out to me! I am unsure about some things, like when Robin whines and whimpers. I keep getting mixed answers on if mute people can make small noises like that if their muteness is NOT caused by brain defects. I wanna be as accurate as possible with this fic. If something needs fixing, changing, or removed, point them out to me if you can; thanks!

**SladinForever**

* * *

The silent padding of footsteps across the floor managed to alert Robin from his heavy sleep. His eyes fluttered open and he immediately noticed he couldn't recognize where he was. At eye level was a simple cedar wood coffee table, just two feet from him. Forcing his elbow into the couch cushion, he carefully lifted himself up and looked around. He was in a medium-sized living room with coffee table, a hallway to his right, and a kitchen and small dining room to his left. It was obvious he wasn't in Zucco's prison anymore, since Robin had never seen this place before in his life. Unless they had been relocated, but that didn't seem to be the case. It definitely didn't _feel_ like Zucco in the atmosphere. But then where was he?

As Robin racked his brain for a memory, someone came from the kitchen with a glass of water in their slightly wrinkled hand. Feeling the new presence, Robin looked over and saw Wintergreen staring blankly at him. Last night quickly came flooding back to him. That's why Robin didn't feel absolute fear; Zucco was gone. He had been rescued by a scary-looking man wearing a two-toned mask, taken away from that horrible place, and relocated to some place within a forest. A massive wave of relief filled Robin to the brim. He was saved. Finally saved from that living Hell that haunted him daily, even in his sleep. Robin was finally free.

"It is good to see you awake," Wintergreen said as he approached the boy. Robin sat up better as he reached him. Wintergreen handed him the glass of refreshing cold liquid. Hesitant, Robin took it gingerly with his hand and pulled it near his chest as the man let go. He grabbed it with both hands and looked into it. "It's simply water."

Not feeling at all in danger, Robin put the rim to his lips and slowly tilted his head back. Wintergreen watched him gulp it down almost greedily. This worried the old man. When the glass was empty, Robin lowered his head and panted slightly out of breath. He swallowed hard when his breathing returned to normal. He then looked back at Wintergreen and pointed frantically at the glass, whilst making grainy whimpers. Wintergreen understood that he wanted more, so he returned to the kitchen, refilled the glass, and returned to the couch. Robin drank the second glass quickly as well. When it was empty, he lowered it from his mouth and released a relieved breath. He set the glass down on the coffee table when he saw something that wasn't there last night. Blinking, he reached for a spiral notebook with a black pen sitting on top of it.

"Ah, yes, I figured we could have a means to communicate with each other," Wintergreen stated as Robin touched the cover with his right hand. "We would only have a problem if you couldn't read or write however." Robin set the notebook aside and looked up at Wintergreen. "Would you like a spot of breakfast?"

At that moment, Robin's stomach growled. He was feeling pretty hungry. He nodded gently. Without a word, Wintergreen turned around and returned to the kitchen once more. While he began to fry some eggs and make toast, Robin sat up straight on the couch, raised his arms above his head, and stretched and yawned. He dropped his arms when the air passed, scratching the back of his head with his left hand. He then sat back and looked around the mostly bare living room.

Not soon after, the master bedroom door opened and Slade stepped out, wearing gray sweatpants and a black tank top. He came down the hallway silently and entered the living room. From the corner of his eye, he saw Robin laying back down with his back to the room. He pulled the blanket back over himself, but only to his mid-drift. Looking away, Slade continued to the kitchen. Wintergreen was at the stove, flipping half cooked egg yolks over in a skillet with a spatula. Slade stopped at the refrigerator and opened the door.

"How long has the boy been awake?"

Slade pulled out a bottle of water as Wintergreen answered, "About five minutes." The door closed with a light snap. Wintergreen glanced at Slade as he opened the bottle. "I am making him breakfast. Are you going for a run?"

Slade drank some of the water before setting it on the counter. "Just a short one." He turned to Wintergreen. "After he's done eating, let him use the bathroom and then tell him he needs a medical check-up upon my return. Then he can take a shower after."

"Yes sir."

Turning towards a back door, Slade began to leave. "I'll be back soon."

Slade slammed the door shut, leaving Wintergreen alone in the kitchen. It took at least ten minutes to make scrambled eggs, four slices of buttered toast, and to cook some turkey sausage links. He dished up a full plate and then proceeded in taking it to Robin.

"Robin, I have your breakfast." Robin looked over his shoulder at Wintergreen, who stood close behind him. "I hope eggs and toast will satisfy you." When Robin didn't move, Wintergreen set the plate down and grabbed the glass. "I will refill this for you. Eat." Wintergreen went back into the kitchen and to the refrigerator. With stomach growling again, Robin rolled over, sat up, and then reached for the plate. He placed it on his lap and then poked the eggs with the tip of his pointer finger. The texture felt like jelly and paper. Robin couldn't remember the last time he had eggs. Wintergreen came back with a full glass of water and a plate for himself. He sat down on Robin's right side, setting the glass down on the table. "Please eat. I won't feel better until you do."

Robin looked to him, blinking. After a few more seconds, he looked down at his plate, picked up his fork, and stabbed some eggs on the teeth. Wintergreen waited for him to put the bite in his mouth before starting to eat his breakfast. Robin sniffed the bite of egg twice, testing to make sure nothing bad was put in it. When it smelled safe, he put the fork in his mouth and pulled the eggs off the teeth. He chewed a few times before swallowing. When it tasted safe, he grabbed some more and began to eat. Smiling softly, Wintergreen looked down at his plate and picked up his jellied toast.

For the next few minutes, Wintergreen and Robin ate their hot breakfast silently. Robin almost gobbled everything down, he was so hungry. When Wintergreen noticed, he wondered how long it had been since the boy ate last. Perhaps with some energy in his system, Robin would be willing to talk to Wintergreen. When his plate was empty, Robin grabbed his glass of water and quickly drank it to wash everything down. He set the dishes down after and burped inward. He then rubbed his itching eye while laying back down on his left side. A minute later, Wintergreen finished eating. He set the plate on top of Robin's and then grabbed the notebook and pen. He opened the cover with his right hand while his left held the pen and then looked at the boy.

"Robin, would you answer some questions for me?" Robin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "They will be simple, I assure you." Robin's eyes moved back and forth a few times before he sat up, swallowed, and finally nodded. Wintergreen handed him the notebook and pen. "You may take your time writing your responses." It took a few seconds for Robin to feel comfortable with the pen in his fingers. He held it between his pointer, middle, and thumb fingers a few centimeters from the pen tip and the middle of it rested against the webbing of his thumb and pointer finger. When he waited, Wintergreen asked his first question. "Do you know how old you are?"

Robin stared at the first line of the page while slowly moving the pen tip to it. Very slowly, he wrote down the number 16 and then added, _I think_. When he was done, he turned the book while lifting it up with both hands and held it for Wintergreen to read. When he gave a nod, Robin lowered the notebook back on his legs and moved on to the next line.

"Do you know your birthday?"

Robin was hesitant, but he slowly wrote, _I__…__can't__…__r-really__…__remember. A__…pril? _He paused on his next sentence. This gave Wintergreen time to read the previous response. _I have…n't cele…brated it since— _

Robin stopped and then suddenly crossed what he wrote out frantically. Whatever he was about to say clearly upset him to the point of mutilating the sentence with ink. His body began to shake as he moved the pen side-to-side quickly. A small whining sound came from him. When he made a slit in the paper because of it being so wet, Wintergreen grabbed his half-curled fist to stop him.

"It's okay. You can stop now." Robin's tightened body slowly relaxed and his grip on the pen lessened. He let out a heavy breath. Wintergreen released his hand and carefully tore the ruined page out. He folded it and then set it on the table to throw away later before looking at the boy. "Not counting a few minutes ago, when was the last time you ate and drank? You seemed very hungry and thirsty."

Sniffing, Robin pressed the knuckle of his pointer finger against the side of his nose for a split second before writing. _I don't know exactly…but its been a l…ong time. _

Robin was about to add more, but he stopped and suddenly dropped the pen down. He then shoved the notebook to the floor. Quickly lifting his legs, he pulled his knees to his chest and held them tightly with his arms. He then buried his face into the darkness, his eyes clenched tightly shut as he remembered something vividly in his mind. Wintergreen slowly looked down at the notebook and stared silently at it.

Meanwhile, the back door opened. Slade entered the kitchen and gently closed the door behind him. He heard Wintergreen ask Robin about his birthday as he made his way through. Stopping by the wall frame, he watched as Robin answered Wintergreen's question transcriptedly. His eyes narrowed softly when Robin freaked out and mutilated the page. After Wintergreen calmed him down and tore the page out, Slade had a clear view of it as it landed on the table. He could barely make out the unfinished sentence, but he figured it out within seconds. He was curious to know what Robin had been about to say. Slade's best guess was about what age the boy had been when Zucco kidnapped him. Exactly how many years had Robin suffered his mysterious abuse, and why?

After the unsettling silence and air passed, Slade made his presence known by walking up to the corner of the couch. Wintergreen looked up at him and then stood up. He gave a nod to Slade before picking up the plates and piece of paper. Turning right, he walked around the table and headed for the kitchen. Walking up to the thrown notebook, Slade crouched down and lightly picked it up. He closed it with the pen inside and then stood up.

"Robin, let's go into my room," Slade said while looking at him. "Wintergreen and I need to gather DNA samples from your injuries. You will be more comfortable in a soft bed."

Robin sat with his arms slackened around his knees. His eyes were narrowed and half closed and watery. He suddenly flinched when Slade put a hand on his shoulder. He slowly looked up at him, seeing his face a little more clearly than last night. Robin realized almost immediately that there was no emotion conveyed in the man's penetrating eyes. There was a strange calmness to him that the boy couldn't understand. As if mesmerized, Robin lowered his legs, placed his hands on the edge of the couch, and then carefully stood up. It was almost absurd to believe Slade was controlling his body to do things by gaze alone. Robin just couldn't say no.

Grabbing around his shoulders with one arm, Slade pulled Robin along through the living room and down the hall. Wintergreen came soon after they entered the master bedroom, where only the sheets and one pillow remained.

As Slade sat Robin down on the edge of the bed, he said, "Wintergreen, bring me that rack of test tubes and swabs on my desk for me while I get Robin situated."

"Yes sir."

As Wintergreen moved to the desk, Robin looked at Slade in worry. What was going to happen to him now? He whined at the possibilities. Slade gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

"No one is going to hurt you. I just need a few samples to send to a doctor I know, to figure out what might have happened to you while you were in Zucco's custody." Wintergreen set the rack on the bedside table. "You just have to trust me."

Wintergreen snorted. "I expect what he went through is a cause to not trust anyone…"

Robin nodded quickly in agreement. Slade patted his head gently. "You will be just fine. Close your eyes if you have to." Wintergreen stepped back a step when Slade moved to the side table. He set the notebook down, saying, "You will have to take your clothes off." Robin paled. He had to get naked in front of these two? He would rather curl up in a ball and die than have men look at him in such a state again. Another whine escaped him, but Slade ignored it as he pulled out a test tube and swab on a long stick. "The faster we get this done, the sooner you can bathe and feel better. Wintergreen will help you."

Robin scowled, like he was non-verbally communicating that he didn't want to do this. Wintergreen walked over to stand in front of him. Leaning over, he placed a gentle hand on Robin's shoulder. The boy looked up at him in worry.

"Robin, I understand you don't trust either one of us, but I promise you that no harm will come to you. Master Slade and I just want to help you." Robin's eyes began to water. With his other hand, Wintergreen gently pushed his hair back as he leaned his face closer. "Please believe me…"

Robin and Wintergreen stared silently at each other while Slade looked on in wait. If anyone could get the boy to open up and feel at ease, it would be Wintergreen. It worked for Slade at Robin's age, didn't it? If it weren't for this caring old man, Slade would have probably killed himself long ago…

After what seemed like forever, Robin finally nodded. Wintergreen gave a soft, encouraging smile before standing up straight and turning to Slade. The mercenary gave a nod before moving around the Englishman to be by Robin's legs. Swallowing hard, the boy grabbed the hem of his boxers and shakily pushed them off bruised hips. He closed his eyes tight as he began to pull them down from his thighs. To pull them all the way off, he moved his body from side-to-side to get them out from under his rear and then bent his knees. Robin slipped the boxers off and then dropped them to the floor. It was a good thing Wintergreen was used to bodily injuries and seeing men and women naked, otherwise he would lose his composure. Not liking the judging eyes on him, Robin tried to hide himself with his arms and knees. Slade rarely, if ever showed emotion, but anger flickered across his face. If Zucco wasn't already dead, he would find the lowlife and kill him slowly and painfully.

Several long seconds passed before Slade gently said, "Lay on your stomach. I will get the worst part over with first." Sniffing, Robin tried to lay down without dropping suddenly. Luckily, Wintergreen was near-by. He grabbed Robin's pale arms and lowered his body, placing his head on the solitary pillow. He then helped him straighten out his legs as he turned to be on his stomach. When Robin was still, Slade moved closer to his waist. "Wintergreen, just talk to him to keep his mind off this."

"Yes sir." Getting on his knees at the side of the bed, Slade pulled Robin's left leg towards him a few inches. He felt the boy flinch, but ignored it. Wintergreen crouched before Robin's face and gently petted his head. "It will all be over soon. Just look at me and hear my voice, alright?" Robin stared frightened at him, but managed to nod. "That's a good boy."

While Wintergreen continued to talk to Robin like a five year old, Slade spread his butt cheeks apart and pressed the swab to the red, slightly puckered hole. Robin tensed and slammed his eyes shut, whimpering. Wintergreen shh-ed him and told him it would be okay. For the next two minutes, Slade gathered a few samples of the boy's anus, inside and out. Forcing a swab inside really took a toll on him. Robin had buried his face in the pillow and was digging his left hand fingers against his head. He whimpered and cried hard. For a mute person, Robin was very loud. In his mind, he was pleading for it all to end right that second.

"There, hard part's over," Slade said as he capped his seventh swab. He handed the tube to Wintergreen to put with the other samples. Robin gripped his hair tight, feeling ashamed, humiliated, and scared. Why did he constantly have to be prodded and stared at? It disgust him so much! "Wintergreen, start the bath water while I check Robin's bruises. Then I need a camera for evidence."

Wintergreen had gone back to petting Robin's head. He then looked at Slade and nodded. "Yes sir."

After reassuring Robin that the examine would be complete in minutes, Wintergreen entered the bathroom, going to the glass doors of the shower. While he put in the drain plug and turned the hot water on full blast, Slade moved up the bed to stand in front of Robin's chest. He leaned slightly over to grab his shoulder and slowly push him onto his back. Tears were streaming down Robin's face. Crouching in front of him, Slade grabbed the sheet near the foot of the bed and pulled it up over the boy's waist. He would look at his crotch in a minute.

"You're being very brave you know." Robin's eyes slowly opened. Slade was staring sincerely at him with partly narrowed eyes. Without looking, he grabbed the test tube rack and pulled it down to the floor. He took a free tube out and grabbed a swab stick, showing them to Robin. He pointed to the tip of the stick with his pointer finger. "I run this swab of cotton over the markings on your body. It will gather and hold DNA and residue that is invisible to the naked eye. Whatever is on this, will determine what was done to you. Then—" Slade shook the test tube twice. "—I put the swab in this tube, close it tight, and then send it off to a doctor to get the samples tested." Moving a little closer to Robin's face, Slade twirled the stick in between his fingers as he ran the cotton over a brown mark on the boy's collarbone. Robin didn't really care what Slade had said, but talking to him regardless slightly eased his troubled mind. When the man was done, he slipped the swab in the tube, closed it, and then showed it to Robin. "You see? All done."

Robin blinked several times at him. Looking down at the rack by his foot, Slade put the test tube in a hole, grabbed another tube and swab, and repeated the procedure. At the bathroom door, Wintergreen had listened and watched the two silently. It was amazing how thoughtful and caring Slade was being. For as long as he knew him, Wintergreen had rarely seen this side to him. Slade had had a hard life that caused him to be distant, distrustful, and full of anger and hate. It was strange to see that a young boy was changing him so quickly. Did Slade perhaps see similarities between the two of them already? He was very perceptive of the little things in people after all.

Remembering about the camera, Wintergreen went to Slade's desk, opened a large drawer on the right of the chair, and pulled out a small, mostly compact, digital camera. Slade was examining Robin's mouth and throat with a mini flashlight. Wintergreen set the camera on the table before returning to the bathroom and checking on the water level. It was nearing the brim, so he turned the cold water off, let the hot stay on a few extra seconds, and then turned that off. He used the restroom, washed his hands, and then returned to the bedroom. Robin was finally able to be sitting up again. He coughed violently due to the air hitting the back of his throat for so many seconds. When he was done, he sniffed and ran his arm across the bottom of his nose. Slade picked up the camera after putting the test tube rack on the desk and turned it on. The lens extended out to two tiers and the screen came to life. Slade adjusted the settings before standing directly in front of Robin.

"I need to take some pictures of your bruising and that cut on your throat." Instinctively, Robin placed a hand to his jugular while looking down at his legs. "It will only take a few seconds. Close your eyes if you need to."

Breathing heavy out of his nose, Robin lowered his hand back down, straightened his back, and exposed his neck and torso to Slade. Holding the camera very steady, Slade zoomed in, rested his finger on the button, let it adjust, and then snapped a picture. He had the boy move his head in different directions so he could get every bruise and hickey. He then took pictures of his stomach, shoulders, back, and, eventually, his crotch and legs. Robin did surprisingly well, though the full frontal and back picture was nerve-racking. He was breathing deep and hard from the slight panic attack he had been gradually having during this process. When Slade moved away to set the camera down, Wintergreen went to the bathroom closet and pulled out a large towel. He returned to Robin, quickly wrapping the towel around his shoulders.

"Now that that's over, let's get you washed up," Wintergreen said before guiding Robin to the bathroom. Seeing the toilet, the boy realized he had to pee. He tapped Wintergreen's arm to get his attention. The Englishman looked over at him. Robin pointed to the toilet frantically. "Go ahead." Stepping up to the toilet, Robin dropped the towel and did his business. Wintergreen was getting the shampoo bottle and bar of soap down from the transparent shower holder. When his bladder was empty, Robin washed his hands and got his face wet with cold water. "Robin, I will give you privacy, if you want it."

Turning, Robin nodded at Wintergreen. He left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Letting out a voiceless sigh, the boy shoved the towel over to the edge of the bathtub with his foot and then stepped into the hot water. For the first time in years, Robin smiled as he quickly got the rest of his body in the tub and into the water. He lowered himself all the way down until the water met his chin and began to allow the steam and heat wash all his aches and pains away.


	5. Silent Birdsong Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1

A guest reviewer brought this up in a review of last chapter and I had thought of it after I uploaded the chapter. When Robin was writing his response to Wintergreen, there were triple periods, to indicate pausing at times—example "_I…can't…really…remember. A…pril?"—_ It obviously was unclear my intention for doing this to the readers, so here's an explanation. Basically Robin is writing slowly, since sometimes he has to think about how a word is spelled and how he's supposed to write letters—SPOILER ALERT, he hasn't written since age eight, which is when his time with Zucco all started— He's not pausing what he's saying in his head because he knows ahead of time what he wants written, he's just taking some time to write it all down. Until I start writing him using sign language, what he writes will sometimes have the triple periods, to indicate that he's trying to think what letter or word to write next. So please keep that in mind :)

**SladinForever**

* * *

Wintergreen left the bathroom to give Robin peace and quiet. Slade was sitting at his computer, typing in his password at the log-in screen. The camera's SD card was laying next to the mouse. It took twenty seconds for the desktop to load one hundred percent. Grabbing the tiny blue card, Slade inserted it into the multi-SD card reader device and then double clicked the camera icon that suddenly appeared in the center of the desktop. A viewing program appeared on screen. The photos he just took were the only ones on the camera. Wintergreen stood behind his chair, watching the pictures load in the list.

"Contact Alfred Pennyworth and let him know I will be sending Bruce Wayne an e-mail today. Tomorrow, I will ship the samples through the mail to him."

"Yes sir."

After the pictures fully loaded, Slade highlighted them all, went to the File menu, and clicked on "Send via E-mail". A private e-mail provider program popped up within seconds. Near the top of the header and recipient boxes was a blue loading bar. It read "Loading thirteen files". It only took ten seconds for all of them to be attached to an e-mail. While Slade wrote the context of his e-mail, Wintergreen left and went to the kitchen. He picked up the wireless phone from the charger and typed in an eleven-digit number into the phone. Before it made the dial tone noise, Wintergreen placed it to the right side of his head and waited. After three rings, the other line was answered and a scraggly-voiced, older Brit spoke.

"_Alfred Pennyworth; Wayne Manor residence. May I ask who is calling?"_

"Good morning, Alfred," Wintergreen said casually. "It's William."

"_William? It sure has been a long time, hasn't it?"_

Wintergreen smiled faintly. "Yes, almost six months, in fact. Of course, we haven't met face-to-face in almost fifteen years. I would like to say I called to speak of good events, but that is simply not true."

"_Has something bad happened?" _Alfred asked, hiding the slight worry in his voice.

Wintergreen rubbed his eyes with his left hand fingers. "In a way, yes. Something has come up. I was wondering if Master Wayne was in Gotham right now."

At Wayne Manor, located in Gotham, New Jersey, Alfred looked up the large stairs at the front of the Manor. "Master Bruce is in his study at the moment. What do you need from him?"

"_I am currently with Slade Wilson at one of his safe houses. He had a job last night that ended on an unprecedented note. He would like Master Wayne to look at some photos and DNA samples. The e-mail will be sent today of all the information we have. Master Wilson will mail the samples tomorrow. He wanted to make sure Master Wayne was home before doing so. Would that be alright?"_

Alfred had to think for a moment. "…Master Bruce does not have his next out-of-country conference until November. I'm sure he will be willing to help Master Wilson."

Wintergreen put the phone to his other ear. "Thank you, Alfred. I don't wish to go over details over the phone, but I'm sure Master Wayne will explain everything in the e-mail to you. Please inform him of the event once we are done here."

"_Of course, my friend. Perhaps I will see you and Master Wilson soon."_

"We will see. Have a good day."

"_So should you, William."_

Before Wintergreen could say anymore, Alfred hung up and then headed up the stairs. Sighing, Wintergreen pulled the phone away from his ear and pushed the red button on the right. He placed it back on the charger, walked to a cupboard, and pulled it open to reveal glasses. He pulled one down, closed the cupboard, and went to the refrigerator. He poured the glass full of refreshing, cold water. After putting the pitcher back and closing the door, he walked back to Slade's room. The mercenary ignored him as Wintergreen headed for the bathroom door. He knocked on it before slowly pushing it open.

In the bathtub, Robin was washing his entire body with soap. Wintergreen stepped inside and closed the door. Sitting on the closed toilet, he placed the glass on the edge of the tub.

"You should drink a lot of fluids for the next few days." Robin washed the soap off his skin and hands before picking up the glass and drinking the water. He drank much slower than from breakfast. When the glass was empty, he placed it back down, scooped up water in his hand, and quickly placed it on the back of his neck. Wintergreen watched him gently soap up all around his neck and shoulders. "Would you like me to wash your back?"

Robin soaped up the front of his neck before nodding. Standing, Wintergreen grabbed the bar of soap, got both hands wet, and got them soapy. Robin moved forward a few inches so that he could easily reach. For a good few minutes, Wintergreen washed every inch of his back, being extra careful around some bruises and faint scars.

"You will feel much better in no time." With the glass, Wintergreen filled it with water and then poured it from the base of Robin's neck. The water fell down his back and chest and into the tub. He did this several times before using a wet hand to get the rest off. Robin's eyes had been closed due to bliss. The last time he had been able to bathe was five days ago. For once in his life, he enjoyed bath time. It was because he had been alone and was safe from Zucco. "Master Robin, please calm down." Robin's eyes snapped open. They had been tightly closed, so his vision was blurry. He felt the violent tremors pass. With the balls of his hands, he started hitting his forehead with them in frustration. Wintergreen quickly grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms down. Robin looked at him, looking panicked. "Hurting yourself will not make the memories go away."

Tears welled up and then fell heavily from Robin's wide eyes. He closed them again and sobbed. Wintergreen wished he could do something for him, but there was no cure for remembering the darkest corners of the human mind. Robin's was possibly the darkest and most scarred mind of them all. The only thing Slade and Wintergreen could do was get him the help he needed. The teen was probably depressed and full of anxiety that needed maintaining.

After making sure all the soap suds and residue were gone, Wintergreen unplugged the drain and waited for all the water to go before grabbing the towel and throwing it around Robin's shoulders.

"Let's find you some clothes to wear, hm? Come on." Sniffing in hard, Robin folded his legs, placed his feet on the tub floor, and then, with the help of Wintergreen, stood up. The Englishman helped him out of the bathtub. "Master Slade should have something wearable for you."

Before the two left the bathroom, Wintergreen dried Robin's body off. Getting his wet hair in one section, the Englishman squeezed it all out into the towel. Some landed on the floor, but Wintergreen would dry it up in a minute. Robin was more important at the moment. Keeping the towel around him, Wintergreen led him out into the bedroom and to the bed. Slade was currently out of the room, so the Englishman went to the dresser and looked for clean boxers and pants. Robin stayed sitting on the bed, but he wrapped the towel tighter around him. Wintergreen returned to his bedside and set the clothes beside him.

"Put those on while I find Master Slade."

Without waiting for a response, Wintergreen turned and walked out. Robin looked at the boxers and sleep pants he was given. Standing up, he ran the towel along his body one more time before grabbing the loose boxers and slipping them on. They were a little too wide around the waist, so he had to hold them up with one hand to get the pants on. Luckily they had strings since they would be too big on him too. It didn't take long to pull the pants up and tie the strings loosely. Sitting back down, he started rolling up the bottoms around his ankles. That's when Slade walked in, followed by Wintergreen, who had another glass of water. He went to the bed and gave Robin the glass. He took it in his hand and lifted it up an inch in gratitude. Slade stood at the foot of the bed, his arms folded over his chest.

"After you rest up again, I need to ask you something important that will determine your future," he explained. Robin gulped down some water. "You will need to sleep on the couch so Wintergreen can wash the bed sheets." Robin swallowed the rest of the water and handed the glass to Wintergreen. The Englishman took it and then ran his hand through his hair. "Thank you for all your help, Wintergreen. Get Robin situated on the couch."

Robin stood up as Wintergreen looked at Slade and said, "Yes sir."

"I'll be in the shower."

Slade entered the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. Wintergreen turned back to Robin, who yawned. "How about some fresh air first?" Robin scratched his left arm near the shoulder. "Come on, let's go outside for a few minutes." Wintergreen walked past him and headed for the door. Robin hesitated before following. They walked through the hall, into the living room, through the kitchen, and to the back door. Wintergreen pulled it open and stepped aside. "I will be right behind you."

Robin shook his head. Wintergreen raised his eyebrows a little. Scowling, Robin grabbed his arm with both hands and tried to get him out the door. Chuckling softly, Wintergreen nodded and stepped out first. Robin stepped up to the threshold, then paused. He looked back into the kitchen, like he was expecting something. When nothing happened, he looked ahead, inhaled deep, and then stepped out the door. Wintergreen allowed him to take a few steps into the morning sunlight before closing the door behind him. Robin wrapped his arms around himself as the cool air hit his bare skin. The wind blew through a few strands of hair that were mostly dry already. The forest animals, mostly birds, were making noise. When Robin stepped into sunlight, he stopped, thinking. He couldn't remember the last time he felt the sun's warmth on his skin. He almost forgot what it was like. Darkness had been one of his main constants in life. It wasn't his friend, far from it, but he had grown to accept it. Perhaps now he could accept the sun and light again.

"You have not seen the sun in a long time, have you?" Jerking his head over his shoulder, Robin saw Wintergreen staring sincerely at him, though there was a spark of sadness in his old, hazel eyes too. Lowering his head, Robin ran his arm across his eyes as tears formed. He sniffed. Wintergreen stepped up to his left side, placing his hand on the teen's shoulder. "You do not need to live in the darkness any longer. You are safe now."

Unable to hold it back anymore, Robin broke down. Tears streamed heavily down his face. He started to sob and shake. Quickly turning, he forced himself against Wintergreen and buried his face in his chest. He released a loud cry that echoed through the forest. Wintergreen's eyes watered up, but he blinked the tears away. He wrapped his arms around the teen, holding the back of his head with his right hand. He didn't have to say anything to let Robin know he cared. That single embrace was all it took. Just a single loving embrace.

* * *

After a three hour nap, Robin had lunch. He was given some soup, a piece of buttered toast, and more water. Wintergreen had washed the bedding and made Slade's bed. The man was sitting with Robin at the small dining table, cleaning some of his main weapons. Wintergreen had gone out, to do some grocery shopping. He had assured Robin that he would be safe with just Slade there. Robin just gave him a nod before going back to eating. Before Wintergreen left, he had given Robin his notebook, to communicate. He was gulping down his broth, slurping slightly. Slade was putting his gun back together. Glancing up suddenly, after feeling eyes staring, he saw Robin staring at the gun with a blank face. Slade looked at the gun briefly and then back at Robin.

"Have you seen a gun before?"

Jerking his head up, Robin stared across the table at him. Blinking, he looked to his right and saw the notebook. He slid it over to sit in front of him and opened the cover. He went to the next blank page that the pen was bookmarking and picked it up. As Robin began to write a response, sometimes pausing to figure out what word to write next, Slade watched him, all the while putting the gun back together. In about a minute and a half, Robin tapped the end of his word with the pen point, to make a period. He then turned it around and slid it towards Slade. Pulling it closer, he read the somewhat sloppy handwriting.

_Yes I have. I was never threatened by one and they were usually hidden behind coats. I didn't get to see many people, though, so I rarely saw one._

Slade looked up at Robin when he was done reading. "So seeing my gun doesn't trigger anything bad in your mind, I presume?" Robin shook his head. Nodding, Slade slid the notebook back to him. "Good, because you might see it a lot, if you stay with me."

Robin blinked in confusion. Pulling and turning the notebook back around, he picked up the pen and wrote again. Slade finished putting the gun back together and set it aside when Robin was done. Grabbing the notebook in both hands, he lifted it for Slade to read.

_Am I __**not**__ staying with you?_

Slade grabbed a sharp, metal boomerang and began to clean it with a rag. "It really all depends on how you answer one of my more critical questions once Wintergreen returns from the store. He shouldn't be much longer."

Putting the notebook down, Robin wrote down another question. He then lifted it for Slade to read. _Why not just ask me now?_

Slade cleaned the other blade end. "It would be better if Wintergreen was also here, just in case the question upsets you. Now, drink your water and put your bowl and glass in the sink. Throw the napkin away too."

Placing the notebook down yet again, Robin held the cover with his left hand as he slowly wrote down two letters: OK. He showed it to Slade for two seconds before closing the notebook with the pen inside. Grabbing his glass, he slowly drank what was left of his water. Slade went back to his weapons, ignoring Robin. When the table was cleaned up, the teen took his notebook, entered the living room, and laid on his back on the couch, his head laying on the arm rest. While they waited for Wintergreen to return, Robin doodled random images on a clean page. His pen strokes were slow, careful, and articulate, like he was a natural drawing artist.

At half past two, the front door unlocked and was pushed open. Wintergreen entered the entrance, carrying a few bags in his arms. Entering the kitchen, he set the bags on a counter, left, and was going back to the open door when he caught a glimpse of what Robin was drawing. Wintergreen's eyes widened slightly. Robin had drawn several dogs in vivid detail. They looked as if a professional artist had drawn them. It was remarkable.

Stepping up to Robin's shoulder, Wintergreen crouched, placing a hand on his shoulder. Robin jumped slightly, haven't had been paying attention. "You draw very well. Those are very beautiful dogs."

Robin stared solemnly at Wintergreen's face for a few seconds before writing something underneath his last drawing of a doberman pincer: _They be…longed to Tony. They liked me…and I liked them. _Robin paused before adding, _I like dogs._

After waiting a few seconds, he turned the page and started doodling again. Wintergreen watched him briefly before standing up and heading for the front door again. He brought the rest of the bags in before starting to put food and drinks away. Slade was packing away his knives, boomerangs, and guns when he was halfway done.

"Once you're done, you need to sit with Robin and me when I ask him about his parents," Slade said while standing. He grabbed the case of weapons and headed for the hallway. "Then you can take a break!"

Slade left down the hall and into his bedroom. Robin was drawing a random landscape with trees, a moon, plants, and a family of ducks. Or at least, to someone who didn't know any better, it was. Robin hadn't been locked in that concrete box and chained 24/7. There had been a few, special occasions when Zucco was on a business trip in New York and surrounding states and Robin was let out for air. Not all the men that worked for Zucco were as cruel as him. They had been mean, but not by physical means.

Wintergreen put a few cans of chicken noodle and tomato soups in one cupboard before he was done. Going to the refrigerator, he opened the door and pulled out a jug of water. He filled a glass full of it and then entered the living room, where Robin and Slade were waiting. He handed the glass to the teen, who took it with a nod. Going on the other side of him, Wintergreen sat down. Slade stood by the foot of the coffee table, his arms folded over his chest.

"Robin, I need you to stop drawing and look at me. Get a new page ready too." Robin did what he was told before looking up at Slade. His face was entirely emotionless. Robin took a sip of water before setting the glass down on the tabletop. He then placed both arms on top of the notebook, which was aligned with his legs. There was a few seconds of silence before Slade began to talk. "Do you remember how old you were when you started to live with Zucco?" Robin blinked at the question. Looking down at his fresh page, he picked up the pen and wrote the number 8. Slade saw it before continuing. "How did Zucco kidnap you? Was it out in the open or did he take you from a vehicle or house when no one was looking?"

Robin quickly scratched his temple before writing. _He dragged me away and…threw me into a…van. There were people, but_…_everyone was too busy to no…tice._

Robin turned the notebook for Slade to read. When he was done, he nodded, signaling that he read it. Robin turned the notebook back around again. These next few questions would not be easy ones to answer, so Slade spoke very carefully.

"Robin." The teen looked up, blinking. Something stirred in his stomach at the strange look on Slade's face. Slade lowered his arms from his chest. "Do you think your parents are looking for you?"

Robin felt his heart drop into his stomach. His eyes widened for a moment before he lowered his gaze and shakily picked the pen back up. Swallowing, he began to write his answer.

_No, I don't._

Robin dropped his hand, his grip weakening around the pen. Slade waited momentarily before continuing his questioning.

"Why do you think they wouldn't be looking for you? How would you know? They very well could be. They might not have _stopped_ looking. Wouldn't you want to find out the truth?"

Robin's heart began to beat hard and loud against his chest. Swallowing, he shakily wrote down a single sentence. _I know they aren't._

"Why do you say that?"

There was a long, deathly silence following this question. Robin's body began to tighten and his arm started to shake violently. As his hand curled into a fist, he felt the pen container pinch his skin. He closed his eyes tight, trying to suppress the panic and rage. Turning slightly, Wintergreen went to touch the teen's arm, but Slade put up his hand to stop him. Robin's face began to get hot and tears formed behind his tightly closed eyelids. He was barely breathing, so his face was turning red. Gritting his teeth, he whimpered lightly. Soon, most of his upper body was shaking. Out of nowhere, he shoved the notebook off his legs, which flung towards the coffee table. Wintergreen quickly stood up as the glass of water was knocked over and broke into a few pieces. With tears streaming heavily down his face, Robin jumped to his feet and tried to get past Slade, but the mercenary stopped him by grabbing his arms.

"Robin, I know its hard, but you have to-"

"Neeeah!"

Robin had jerked to the left, in attempts at breaking out of the firm grip. Slade pushed him hard, but not enough to knock him down. This only seemed to upset Robin more. Wintergreen thought it was uncalled for, so he gave Slade an annoyed look.

"Robin, you have to stop this. I don't want you to hurt yourself." Robin quickly threw his arms up. They slipped out from under Slade's thumbs, so the rest of his grip fell away. Robin quickly shoved past him and rushed towards the hallway. Slade spun around, glaring after him. "Robin, get back here!"

"Slade!"

The bedroom door slammed shut. An awkward silence filled the room. Wintergreen stood behind Slade, glaring at him. The mercenary stared at the hallway for a few more seconds before turning to him.

"He has to tell us-"

Wintergreen continued to glare at him. "Rushing him like that isn't going to get you anywhere! And you definitely don't grab him and yell at him! He's not a dog for, Christ sakes, he's a little boy! You need to learn not to be so inconsiderate all the time!"

Without waiting for Slade to do anything—he had nothing to say anyway—Wintergreen pushed him aside and briskly walked towards the hallway. Slade watched him go, his eyes narrowed. The bedroom door opened quietly and then closed in two seconds. Inside the bedroom, Robin was laying curled up on his side, his eyes tightly closed while he gripped the bed comforter with his right hand. Wintergreen stayed in front of the door silently for a little while before carefully moving towards the bed. Robin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't acknowledge the old man. Tears from his right eye were dripping over the bridge of his nose, some going into his left eye, before two droplets of tears combined and fell. Once by the side of the bed by the teen's stomach, Wintergreen sat down, laying his arms in between his legs, his elbows on his thighs. Neither made a sound for a long time. Soon, Wintergreen reached over with his left hand and placed it gently on Robin's shoulder.

"I apologize for Slade's rude behavior. He didn't have to grab you like that." Robin didn't move. Moving his hand off his shoulder, Wintergreen gently rubbed his side. "I do not know the full detail on what you went through the last eight years, but I do know its killing you inside. I do not blame you for getting so upset. But Slade is right about one thing. We need to know why you believe your loving parents are not looking for you. We just want to know the reason. If it takes you some time to get the courage to tell us, then I will wait." Robin still didn't do anything for a long time. "It must be so frustrating, not being able to express yourself through words. I just can't imagine having to handle that…"

Wintergreen trailed off. He continued to rub Robin's side, to calm him down. It was working fairly well. His eyes relaxed and began to open. He stared across the room, his heart beat slowing back towards normal. Breathing deeply with his nose, Robin unclenched his hand from the blanket and pushed himself up. Wintergreen moved his arm aside as the teen got in a sitting position beside him. He sniffed in hard before rubbing his arm under his nose. Sniffing again, Robin turned a few inches in Wintergreen's direction and then reached for his hand. The Englishman allowed him to lift it palm up. Swallowing, Robin began to trace letters against his flesh.

_DEAD. _Robin stopped to let Wintergreen get the message. The Englishman's eyelids lowered. Shaking lightly, Robin continued. _MURDERED. BY TONY._

Tears forming in his eyes again, Robin released Wintergreen's hand, turned back to his previous position, and laid back down, burying his face into the pillow. In the living room, Slade was pacing back and forth as he waited for Wintergreen and Robin to return. Although he knew where Wintergreen was coming from with the patience, it was still really annoying not knowing what was locked up in that boy's head. He needed to know as soon as possible if he needed to make preparations for Robin to live with him or not.

A minute later and Slade heard the bedroom door open from the end of the hall. Stopping, he turned around and saw Wintergreen close the door softly behind him. He then headed back into the living room. When Slade saw the look on his wrinkled face, he realized something was very wrong.

"Where's Robin?"

"He's sleeping," Wintergreen answered, moving towards the kitchen.

Slade followed him inside. Grabbing the black tea kettle on the stove, Wintergreen went to the faucet to fill it half full. Slade stood at the opening of the kitchen, watching him.

"Is Robin alright?"

Going back to the stove, Wintergreen placed the kettle on the front burner and turned it on. He then turned back to Slade, a solemn and pained look on his face. "He is far from alright, Slade."

Avoiding rolling his eyes, Slade asked, "Well, what did he tell you then?"

Sighing, Wintergreen ran his hand over down his face. "It's no wonder he is so broken."

"Wintergreen, what did Robin _tell_ you?" Slade asked more sternly.

Wintergreen gave him a very grave look. "Robin's parents were murdered. Murdered by Anthony Zucco."


	6. Silent Birdsong Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1

There was darkness and loud banging and shouting. A young boy's voice fell on deaf ears as he begged to be let go. Then the banging began to diminish and the voice no longer spoke words. Instead, they were of whines and screams and crying. The only thing that stayed the same was the darkness. There was non a sliver of light. The sensation of someone lurking, someone that was coming near, filled that darkness, chilling the air. It inched closer and closer. The banging and screams completely stopped and all was silent. The density of the air increased as the sensation grew even stronger and stronger. Then, something reached forward and a connection was made.

That is when Robin saw a flash of light and then a tall, male figure, hovering over him. Eyes snapping open and his heart dropping, the teen jumped away as he bolted up into a half-sitting position. The hand that had shaken his shoulder jerked back in surprise.

"Robin, its just me!" Robin stared wide eyed and panting at Slade. He stared fearfully at him, his heart beating very fast in his panic. His teeth pressed lightly together as a fearful whimper escaped him. Slade gave him an apologetic look. "I didn't mean to frighten you, kid. It's okay." Closing his mouth, Robin swallowed hard. He sat up higher and lifted his hands from the bed. Slade gave him a small smile when his wide eyes returned to normal size. His labored breathing returned to normal soon after. "You've been sleeping a lot these last couple of days. I thought it best to awaken you for breakfast. Its almost noon."

Robin was still for a moment, just staring blankly at Slade's face. Sniffing, he pulled the blanket off his legs, turned his body to the right, and then dragged himself towards the edge of the bed. Blinking, Slade watched him get up and walk around the bed cautiously. Robin chanced a quick glance back at him and then hurried out of the room. Snorting softly, Slade followed him. He was more annoyed at himself than the kid, knowing why he was acting weird around him. Why did he have to be an impatient idiot and grab Robin so roughly like that?

Robin entered the dining room and kitchen first and saw Wintergreen making eggs, hash browns, and sausages on the stove. There were four slices of bread in the six-slotted toaster on the counter next to him. A block of butter on a plain black rest was being melted slowly by the heat of the toaster. Coming up behind him, Slade placed a gentle hand on Robin's shoulder and gently pushed him aside. The teen took a step to the right. Slade passed him, going to the refrigerator. Robin watched him pull out a carton of Minute Maid orange juice. The four slices of bread suddenly popped out of the toaster, the sound making Robin jump slightly. After flipping the hash browns over, Wintergreen turned to the toast and pulled them out, placing them onto a plate. When he saw the teen standing by the table, he looked at him with a gentle smile that only an elder could give.

"You look very well rested, Master Robin. Please, sit." Nodding, Robin turned to the closest chair, pulled it out with both hands, and walked around it to sit down. Slade had poured a tall glass of orange juice during the morning greeting and was currently putting the carton back in the refrigerator. Wintergreen began to butter the toasts. "Breakfast will be ready soon."

Robin turned around to face the table. Slade came up beside him on his left, setting the glass down close-by. He then sat down in the chair to the left, rubbing the back of his neck. Half of his body ached because of how he slept on the couch. Or lack thereof because of his damn insomnia. Sliding the glass over, Robin held it on the table with both hands. His pointer finger began tapping the side of it. Slade jerked his head from side-to-side, popping his neck and upper back in several places. Robin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, his eyes narrowing in a weak glare. When he felt better, Slade sat up straight and looked at the teen.

"Did you sleep well?" Robin thought on this for a moment. He barely remembered the dream he had been having before Slade scared him awake. With his right hand, he invisibly wrote some letters on the table: MOSTLY. "That's good." Robin just nodded before lifting his glass to his mouth and taking a sip. "After breakfast, we will figure out what to do today."

After seven and half more minutes, Wintergreen turned off the burners and began to make two plates. He filled them full with each item and two slices of toast each. Grabbing both, one in each hand, he moved to the plate and set them down in front of Slade and Robin. He returned to the counter, grabbed forks and a knife from the drawer, and brought over a jar of concord grape jelly. Robin stared down at his plate with a blank stare. Wintergreen set his fork down on his plate, disturbing his concentration. He then began to clean the kitchen as Slade started to eat. Robin didn't touch his food for a very long time.

"You need to eat." Lifting his head, Robin looked at Slade, who was staring at him. "Wintergreen took the time to make breakfast for you, so you need to eat it." Robin didn't move. Slade's eyes narrowed at him. "Don't make me say it again."

Wintergreen turned off the faucet and turned around, grabbing the towel off the counter to dry his hands. "Perhaps he's not hungry."

Slade looked back at him. "The last time he ate was breakfast _yesterday_. He needs to eat, hungry or not."

"Well, instead of demanding, perhaps you should ask him if he will eat. There's no sense in pushing him."

"Some people _need_ to be pushed, Wintergreen!"

"Slade please…"

"Shut up Wintergreen."

"You can be such a child sometimes."

"I don't ca-"

A loud bang came out of nowhere. Looking over, Slade and Wintergreen saw Robin glaring at them, his fist resting on the table, which he had just hit. Without taking his eyes off them, he grabbed a slice of toast, held it up to be level with his mouth, opened it wide, and then chomped down on it. Slade blinked at him with wide eyes as he chewed his food with his mouth open. Robin then swallowed it down before dropping the toast back on his plate.

"Hmph!"

Finally looking away, Robin picked up his orange juice, drank half of the glass, and then stood up from his chair. Slade and Wintergreen watched him leave the kitchen and go to the hallway. They then heard a door slam in the distance. After a few seconds of staring at the place Robin had stormed off to, Wintergreen sighed.

"Now see what you did?" Jerking his head around, Slade glared at him. Snorting, Wintergreen turned to a drawer, pulled it open, and then pulled out a roll of plastic wrap. "Give me his plate. I will put it in the microwave."

Grumbling, Slade reached for Robin's plate. He picked it up and handed it off to Wintergreen. The Englishman set it on the counter and placed a strip of plastic wrap over top of it. Slade went back to his breakfast, finishing it up. The bedroom door opened again and Robin stepped out after using the bathroom. He entered the living room and saw the notebook on the coffee table. He sat down on the couch and then grabbed it with both hands. Slade soon emerged while Wintergreen continued cleaning the kitchen. The mercenary sat down on the opposite side of Robin, sitting slightly turned to the left to look at him.

"How about we do something productive today, instead of sitting doing nothing." As Robin opened the notebook, he shook his head. Slade watched him click open his pen. "There is plenty we can do. We could go outside for fresh air, maybe take a walk?" On a fresh page, Robin began to draw an elephant. "Wintergreen told me about the dogs while you were asleep last night. He showed me the drawings. They were very good." In the corner, Robin wrote, "thanks" quickly and then returned to his elephant. Slade watched him for a little while. He was intrigued to see Robin draw a patterned blanket on the elephant's back. "Have you been to the circus before?"

When Robin was done drawing the elephant, he wrote May-Bell under the belly before turning to a new page. He began to write.

_I was __in__ the circus._

Slade's eyes narrowed slightly. "In? You mean, with your parents?"

Robin coughed before answering. _Yes. Just a few years. Before_— Robin stopped. Sighing silently, he tore the page out, waded it up in a ball, and set it in between him and Slade. He then started drawing again: a monkey in a little Arabian Nights outfit. Slade watched him in silence. After the monkey was done ten minutes later, Robin started quickly drawing the inside of a circus tent. He worked on it for several minutes before he was done. Sniffing, he wrote two words above a trapeze structure. A stunned sting passed through Slade as he read the name of the circus. Shaking slightly, Robin began to write something under the picture. _I…was there…when my parents_—

Robin was shaking so bad that the handwriting was almost ineligible. Closing his eyes tight, he began to cry heavy tears. The pen was suddenly out of his hand and rolling onto the floor. Robin pressed his hands to his wet eyes, sobbing and crying hard. Wintergreen stood in the entryway of the kitchen, pain filling him. Slade's mouth was left partly open as he stared in shock. How had he been so stupid not to realize? The sudden deaths of the Flying Graysons had stunned people all over the world. And then their son Richard had gone missing right after. No one knew where he was or what had happened to him. He had been left forgotten on a missing child's website and message board. God, how could Slade have been so stupid?!

"Slade…" Wintergreen said softly. Snapping out of it, Slade looked up at him. Wintergreen had a grave look on his face. "We need to inform the police. If we don't and we get caught—" Slade felt Robin rocking back and forth beside him as he had his head nestled between his knees. The poor boy was mentally unstable and needed proper care, but… "Slade, please."

There was a pause and then—

"No."

Wintergreen looked appalled at Slade's quick and forceful answer, like it was not a topic to discuss. He stood dumbstruck for a few seconds before his lips tightened together and he glared at the mercenary.

"If we don't report to authorities that Richard Grayson was found and we get caught, we will have abetted Zucco in a federal crime! Do you wish for that to happen?"

Not liking his tone, Slade stood up, glaring hard at him. "Do you know what will happen if word gets out? Do you really think Robin will be able to handle the pressure when the media confronts him and asks him questions? His mind is broken enough as it is! If I turn him in, the country will be hysterical, trying to catch a glimpse of little famous Richard Grayson! Do you want that to happen?" Wintergreen didn't answer. Slade thought so. "Robin needs me and I'll be damned if I let your blindness make the decisions around here. So, no, Wintergreen, I will not go to the police. If you have a problem with that, then you can _leave_."

That seemed to struck a chord. Wintergreen couldn't remember the last time he and Slade had fought like this. Telling him to leave was hurtful. After a few seconds, Wintergreen looked at Robin, who was no longer rocking but pining. There was truth in Slade's words. The media would have a field day if word got out that Richard Grayson was alive. There was no way the boy could handle such exposure. So should Wintergreen risk Robin's well being or risk going to jail from abetting in kidnapping? Whose life was more important: theirs or Robin's?

Despite his mind telling him this was all wrong, Wintergreen looked back at Slade and said, "Fine. But if your plan fails, you are not to drag me into the pit with you. I will pretend I had no part in this. I'm too old to be dragged down with you." When Slade didn't say anything, Wintergreen turned around and headed for the kitchen. Stopping by the wall, he looked back and added, "And don't _ever_ give me the option to leave. Because next time, I will."

Without saying anything else, Wintergreen looked back ahead and vanished around the corner. Slade heard the door into the laundry room open and then close. His hard, angry face softened and he looked back down at Robin. Crouching beside him to be his height, Slade placed a reassuring hand on the back of his neck, squeezing the base firmly.

"I'm sorry to have argued in front of you like that." Slowly lifting his head, Robin looked at him, his cheeks wet from tears. Placing his left hand on the side of his face, Slade wiped the wetness from under his eye socket with his thumb. "I don't like to fight with Wintergreen, but sometimes he needs to be put in his place." Slade wiped Robin's other cheek with his right hand. "I can't remember the last time we had one and I hope to never do it again." Robin just stared at him with wet eyes. After a few seconds of staring, Slade looked off to the side. "He is right though. The _right _thing to do would be to turn you over to the police." Slade looked at Robin again. "But what's more right is to pretend you don't exist and for Wintergreen and I to care for you. I also don't wish to put you through what I went through at your age. I don't want you to be stuck in an orphanage, hoping to gain a new family and then having that hope crushed when nothing happens. I can't let that happen. I _won't_ let that happen. I hope you can understand that."

Robin sniffed as he continued to stare at Slade. After a while, he looked away, picked up the notebook and pen off the floor and wrote, "I understand".

Slade smiled, running his hand through Robin's soft hair from the back. "Good boy." Standing up, Slade carefully took the notebook and pen away, put the pen inside, and closed it with a light snap. "Let's go outside for a bit. You could use the fresh air."

Slade walked past him to go to the kitchen. Sniffing hard again and running his arm across the underside of his nose, Robin stood up and slowly followed after him. Slade reached the door first while setting the notebook on the kitchen table. He opened it and stepped out, holding the door open. Robin wiped his eyes a little better as he made his way over. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he stepped over the threshold and felt a ray of sunshine on his pale leg. It was very warm and, surprisingly, comforting. So Robin stepped completely out of the house and walked ahead a few feet. Closing the door behind him, Slade walked behind him as they made it into the clearing. Birds chirped and flew overhead. There were some deer deeper in the woods. A butterfly suddenly flew in front of Robin. It was golden yellow and brown with black blotches on the wings. Robin hadn't seen many butterflies in his life, but all of them had been beautiful. This was the first time in a very long time that he saw one.

The wind was cool and refreshing as it blew through Robin's hair and on his face. The warmth of the sun felt comforting on his flesh. Reaching one of the many trees, he ran his hand along the bark, feeling it grate across his skin. He liked the texture. Slade watched Robin look around and observe his surroundings. The fresh air and strong scent of pine, grass, and woodlands seemed to have calmed the boy down.

"Has it been a long time since you've felt this way?" Slade asked softly as he stopped beside Robin. Looking at him, the teen nodded. "Do you feel safe?"

Robin had to think about that for a moment. He soon nodded before something caught the corner of his eye. Going to another tree, he crouched down to look at a fuzzy green caterpillar climbing the trunk. Reaching over, he poked its back gently, feeling it shudder slightly. Slade thought it was pretty adorable at how child-like Robin was. He actually smiled, but it quickly vanished when he realized how wrong it was. Robin shouldn't have to be this way. He shouldn't have to be unable to tell his story. He shouldn't be mute or broken. He should've had a normal life in the circus with his parents, not live with a man that killed for a living. But Robin couldn't have that. He would never be the same again…

Turning to the left, Slade headed for the trees. "Let us take a walk for a while. Then we can return to the hideout and get you something to eat."

Robin had picked up the caterpillar and was watching it walk around his palm. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he saw Slade headed for the thicket of trees. Lowering his hand to the forest floor, he gently pushed the caterpillar off, stood up and turned, and followed after him.


End file.
